


Friends Like These

by Elvesliketrees



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Dark Thoughts, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt!d'Artagnan, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Suicide, poor d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they found out about her, no one sided with him. Athos looked at him with cold eyes and passed his sentence. Aramis, an uncharacteristic sneer on his lips, told him to get out. Porthos looked down at his pitiful form and shooed him away. And he deserved it, oh God did he deserve it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I wanted to do a fic about what exactly happened when Athos found out about Milady and d'Artagnan. The pup is not going to have fun times for this, so please please read the tags! If I've missed anything, please let me know! Thank you for reading and I would love to hear from you!

The setting sun shone down on four men as they left the great stone building. The largest one was on the right, his arm slung around the two to his left. His eyes danced and the words fell quickly from his lips, excitement spilling forth. The coat of the one in the middle is slightly unbuttoned, his eyes shine, and his face is split into a huge smile. His words speak of the mischief that will be born this night. The one to his left is obviously the youngest. A worshipful smile graces his lips, his eyes shine with warmth, his laughter carries to the skies and warms the hearts of any who hear it. The one on the far left is the one who might be called sad. His brown hair curls to his neck, but no teeth are visible, no laugh carries forth past his lips. But the corners of his mouth were curled up slightly, and only the depths of his eyes were thawed with what could only be called  _love_. As the four made their unsteady way through the streets, linked together and laughing, they go inside a sparse building and settle down in the spartan room. 

\---

Athos watched as Aramis all but flung himself on his bed and Porthos settled down at the end. d'Artagnan was forced to settle himself on the floor. "Gentlemen, I am still not sure why these apartments are the best choice for a night of revelry," Athos drawled, though he secretly was glad that his cold quarters were having some warmth. 

"We all know that you have the best wine," Aramis scoffed. Athos harrumphed at that statement and fished out his two bottles of red. Porthos gave a cry of joy and smiled. Aramis set down the bastket of food that they'd obtained and soon they were digging in with vigor. After that, they spent a long moment in silence, savoring the wine and one another's company. Finally, Aramis broke the silence. "So d'Artagnan, tell us of this patroness that sponsored your commission," Aramis prodded, never one to be subtle. 

"Aye pup, tell us about this goddess in human form," Porthos teased. 

"Her name is Anne de Winter, I'll be seeing her tomorrow, we agreed. I'll have to get her some forget-me-nots," d'Artagnan commented. Athos' heart thudded to a stop, the air in the room suddenly finding itself scarce. Not her. Not her. It couldn't be. d'Artagnan would never. 

"What does she look like?" Athos croaked. Aramis shot him a concerned glance. 

"'Thos?" Porthos asked, suddenly apprehensive. 

"Describe her to me," Athos stated coldly, "Now." With words stumbling past his lips, d'Artagnan gave an exact description, rope burn included, of his wife. "I told you," he whispered, "And you slept with her." d'Artagnan's eyes grew huge. 

"Please Athos," he whispered, "You must believe that I would never, not if I knew!" 

"Knew what?" Porthos growled. All traces of laughter had left his eyes, and next to him, Aramis was fiddling with the buttons of his coat. "I won't ask again, knew what?" he growled. 

"My wife, the woman who killed my brother, who I thought I hung, she's d'Artagnan's patroness," Athos stated quietly. He wasn't jealous, oh not that, but the thought that d'Artagnan had  _known_ about his wife and had slept with her anyways...it was sickening. The fact that he'd known that she'd murdered his brother, had caused so much pain in his heart had and had bedded her anyways, it settled a pit in his stomach. 

"And you slept with her," Porthos breathed. 

"No!" d'Artagnan squeaked, "I swear, I met her before I met all of you!" 

"And even after Athos explained things, ya didn't put two and two together, or did ya?" Porthos demanded. 

"No! No! You must believe me, I didn't know!" d'Artagnan cried. 

"Leave," Athos breathed, almost not believing that the words came out of his mouth. 

"Athos?" d'Artagnan whimpered. 

"Leave, and do not return," he whispered, tears blurring his vision. 

"You heard what he said, leave," the cold voice of Aramis added. Slowly, menacingly, Porthos got up. With a whine of pure pain, raw and broken, d'Artagnan scrambled out the door. Porthos shut it behind him. He quietly gathered Athos into his arms. Aramis knelt down in front of him, encircling them both, keeping the demons at bay. 

"We're 'ere," Porthos whispered, "We're right 'ere, we're not goin' anywhere." A sob tried to crawl out of Athos' throat. 

"It's alright mon ami, let it out," Aramis soothed, rubbing his side while Porthos rubbed his back. The sob leaked out of his mouth. Then another came. And another. And Athos cried in his friends' arms, letting out years of poisonous darkness. And they held him, all through it they held him. 

\---

Charles d'Artagnan was the sickest soul in this world. How could he have not seen it? Porthos was right, he was at fault for this. He didn't deserve to be wear the pauldron, the cloak, be in their presence. He didn't know. But that was what condemned him. In his ignorance, he had injured Athos grievously. Each sob that punctuated through the door was like a shot to the gut. He heard Porthos' gentle voice, encouraging and warm. Aramis' cool tones, soothing like a cool glass of water after a scorching day. He was a sinner, and he felt guilty at listening outside a room he was not welcome in. But he had to explain. Maybe come morning, they would let him explain. And so he curled up like a dog in the door, guarding his friends and praying for a small chance to redeem himself, though it was undeserved. And with the sobs of one who like a second father to him acting as a horrible lullaby, he slept. When the cock crowed at the rising of the son, d'Artagnan's eyes opened. The door swung inwards, and a boot stepped over his curled form and the door was pulled shut. Porthos didn't even look at him. It was no more than he deserved, but still a single tear slipped down d'Artagnan's cheek. When Porthos returned with a basket laden with breakfast, he looked into d'Artagnan's eyes. He set the basket down and picked d'Artagnan up by the scuff of his collar and dragged him along. When they made it to the door, he knelt down and hefted d'Artagnan up slightly. The boy braced himself for the deserved beating. 

"Leave," Porthos rasped out heavily, "And do not return." With that, d'Artagnan was flying. He landed in the dirt of the street. Porthos walked in without looking back. After what seemed hours of lying in black despair, he stumbled up and headed to the garrison. He needed to turn in his pauldron. When he arrived at the gates, he was not admitted. Captain Treville came out to him with a rucksack, dropping it at his feet. He yanked off the pauldron and cloak, looking at him with hard eyes. 

"Porthos came to me this morning, I don't think anything else needs to be said," he said flatly. d'Artagnan shook his head. He stumbled until he found a suitable alleyway to cry in. All his possessions were in the sack, and all his money. It would not be enough to cover rent, it was barely enough to buy him food. What would he do? He could not go back to Lupiac, the farm was gone and he did not have the money to restart anywhere. No, he would have to find a position here. But all the good positions were available only to members of the guilds. d'Artagnan was no such thing, and after his disgrace, would never be. He would have to find a job. 

Weeks and weeks went by as d'Artagnan tried to find a job, all his possessions were sold for anything that would be offered. His life, his past, for a few meagre sous. Then, his possessions ran out with still no job. He learned that rubbish piles were very good sources for a meal, or scraps dropped by the market. Finally, he heard of a position in the tailor's shop, the small one near the Court of Miracles. d'Artagnan fairly prostrated himself to the owner, and got the job. Maybe there was hope on the horizon. 

\---

Two months had went by since the whelp had scarpered. Porthos bid him good riddance. Athos was finally beginning to be a semblance of his normal self. Since that night, either Aramis or Porthos had found it necessary to stay in his room, there for the midnight pleadings for Athos not to be left alone. When Aramis sat down across from him at the breakfast table, Porthos bowed his head in acknowledgement. It had been a bad night last night. Aramis looked over to where Athos was fencing with an apprentice, then back at Porthos. 

"I sent enquiries to Lupiac," he said hesitantly. Porthos' head shot up. 

"How is he?" he rumbled, "Found a new woman?"

"No, he never returned," Aramis responded. Porthos went back to his breakfast. "I know that he hurt Athos, mon ami, but it was not on purpose. I do not think that we should have acted in such haste, the lad was never even allowed to defend himself," Aramis said slowly. 

"He hurt Athos. If he was stupid enough to be with that woman, he can suffer the consequences," Porthos growled. 

"And how many women have I been with? You've never cast me aside! We've never cast Athos aside for the nights he drinks too much! We've never cast you aside for your cheating! We've forgiven one another's faults, but not his innocent mistakes!" Aramis cried. Porthos' heart dropped to his stomach. Oh, what a damn hypocrite he was. He'd sentenced an innocent boy to a friendless world for a  _mistake_ that he'd been  _sorry_ for. 

"I've been a fool," he rasped. Aramis clasped his hand. 

"We are all were, I should have said something," Aramis whispered. Yes, this was on all of them. 

"You find 'im?" he asked. 

"No, I'm worried Porthos! He was newly commissioned, and he didn't have a job for months before he got his pay! I don't think he would have had much to live off of!" Aramis sighed. 

"And we sent 'im packin' like a dog that's upset it's master one too many times," Porthos breathed. 

"Then by all means, let us find our puppy," a voice drawled behind them. Aramis and Porthos both whirled to face Athos as he nodded at them before trotting up to the Captain's office. 

\---

Unbeknownst to the Gascon, there were numerous and frantic searches for his whereabouts. Unfortunately, Paris was a large enough city for one to hide in. The shop was close enough to the Court to be feared by the Red Guards, but far enough from it that Flea's small informants had found no word on the Gascon. Monsieur, as he demanded was his title, was a hard taskmaster. d'Artagnan was a good hand with a needle, but everyone has their limits. He was the only worker for the small shop, and there was a great amount of demanded. Day after day the work piled up, earning him only pennies a day. He had a hard stool in the corner, and he was not permitted to move until his pile was complete. Often, the sun would set before this was done. Monsieur only paid him a few sous once a week, and sometimes he even "forgot". The stove was nowhere near d'Artagnan's stool, which was in a small room in the back. Day after day he threaded and threaded until his eyes blurred and he felt as if he would collapse. On and on it went, but he had no choice. He got most of his food from the rubbish piles, but that would only feed him so far. One meal a day was what he got. He had no idea how he was to live through the winter, which was looming over Paris. His clothes were but rags, his boots had been stolen one night, his gloves had been worn to rags and had been thrown away. His cloak was threadbare and might as well have been silk for all the warmth it brought. He began to lag. As he got thinner, he got slower. Monsieur now gave him a smack for being lazy. His pay would be shortened for each garment that was wrong, and Monsieur always found something wrong. He was only able to afford a loaf of bread about once a week. Luckily he was able to access a well. He was glad his friends couldn't see him now, he was truly the scum of the earth.

Winter came howling through Paris and d'Artagnan suffered. No longer were the rubbish piles good for a meal. Luckily, the baker's wife took pity on him and sold him the burnt bread at a tenth of the price. But still, he could only afford it every other day. The alley he slept in offered him no shelter. His feet, he wrapped in the from some scraps torn off his cloak. They offered little to no protection. His stool offered no warmth.  Finally, there came the day where he could barely stumble into Monsieur's shop. His coughs were wracked with wheezes, and he only was able to finish a handful of garments. When Monsieur found out, he gave him a thrashing he would always remember as he sobbed out apologies and promises. He would not be receiving his pay that week, or the week after. When he stumbled into his alley, he sobbed when he saw the flakes of snow coming down. When he woke that morning, his hands were shaking and he was covered in a few inches of snow. When he went to the shop, his clothes stuck to his body, not warming up. His hands would not stop shaking. When he stumbled to his alley, he filled his stomach with snow and prayed that it was enough. He went to sleep dreaming of the fact that he may soon get to see his mother and father again. He was sickened by the fact that he was glad of this. Two days passed with no food and more snow, his hands could only just hold the needle. He barely finished his work after Monsieur gave him another thrashing. He curled up in the alley, dreaming of bread and wine and cheese, things that he had taken for granted. His three friends were there, and a great feast was laid before them. He let out a sob as the crunching of boots in the snow awakened him. He let out a pitiful mewl as a warm hand was laid on his forehead. He had stopped shivering. He wondered why the stranger was yelling as he drifted off into darkness. 

\---

No luck. How long would they have to hold on to hope? He was coming from his weekly meeting with Flea, looking for information on d'Artagnan. He would have to give up soon. Athos and Aramis had stopped searching last month. They had talked it over, all of them. Treville was sorry, they all were, and the Captain would readily hand over d'Artagnan's pauldron if-once the boy was found. He looked over in an alleyway as he clutched his bread for dinner. When he saw the small figure huddled in the alley, his heart filled with pity. Was this how d'Artagnan was living now? Did he eat, did he have a warm roof? Porthos looked down at his bread and made his decision. He walked up loudly (be a bad idea to scare him) and knelt down. The figure, he saw it was a man, gave a sob. The poor soul looked bad off, the Musketeer was wondering if he should fetch a doctor. He was struck by how alike the pup the man looked. Wait. The brown hair, slight (now almost skeletal) form, the patched cloak, brown doe eyes. d'Artagnan! His heart sang and then crashed into his stomach. 

"'Ey now, what's all this? This where you been all this time?" he whispered brokenly. Oh the poor lad. He took off a glove and felt his forehead, ice cold. The boy gave out a pitiful mewl and Porthos' heart ached with guilt. "Now, now none of that. We'll get ya safe and warm. There'll be a warm bath, and a nightshirt, and there'll be lots of nice things to eat, and then ya get to sleep, but ya have to stay awake, alrigh'?" he soothed. d'Artagnan didn't seem to hear him, as his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp. "d'Artagnan?!" he yelled, "Come on lad, up!" He gave the lads cheek a little tap, but to no avail. He had to get him to Aramis.  _Now_. He shucked off his cloak and bundled the boy up, pressing him to his chest. He didn't think he'd ever traversed the way to Aramis' so fast. When he burst in the door, Aramis and Athos whirled around. 

"Any news?" Aramis asked before he saw Porthos' precious cargo. Then he saw the bundle. Giving a cry of joy, he lifted the cloak and smiled. Then, he realized that d'Artagnan hadn't awoken to his cries. He felt his forehead and steeled himself. 

"Athos, go now and ask the landlady to draw a warm bath, not hot, and a bucket of warmer water," he commanded. Athos went crashing down the stairs and Aramis grabbed his tub that d'Artagnan would be using. Athos soon came with the water and they stripped d'Artagnan of his rags. Porthos growled when he saw the dark bruises and skeletal form of his friend. 

"Easy Porthos, let us get him better before we let our anger take control," Athos scolded slightly. Porthos clenched his fists and cradled d'Artagnan's head so that it wouldn't slip under the water. The lad gave a moan as they lowered him in. Aramis poured the warmer water in at intervals, slowly heating the water up. Athos scrubbed gently at the Gascon's body, wiping it of months of dirt and grime. Porthos was gladder than he'd been in a long while when long lashes fluttered and the boy gave a pitiful moan. 

\---

Oh he was wonderfully warm. Had he died and gone to heaven? Would he see his mother? Mother! He opened his eyes, which were very heavy, and looked to see Athos leaning above him, a soothing smile on his face. Aramis was dumping water into a tub filled with wonderfully warm water and soap. He saw Athos soak a soft cloth in the water and slowly begin to wipe at his chest. He gave a mewl as he passed over one of his more painful bruises, but a hand came to thread through his hair and cradle his head. 

"Shhhh, easy now lad, we've got ya. Just lie back and relax, we'll have you in bed with somethin' warm in your stomach soon," the voice of Porthos soothed. Athos shouldn't have to be scrubbing at him. They'd told to him to leave! Why was he here?! He lifted up an arm to stop him. Say that it was alright, that they didn't owe him anything, but Athos caught his wrist. 

"Easy, just rest. We're here," Athos soothed. And the darkness blurred his vision, and it was too strong for him to resist. 

\---

When the Gascon finally committed to sleep with a sigh, Aramis looked up from his assessment of injuries. Hypothermia, pneumonia to come later, starvation, infection from the cuts on his feet, some small scrapes, and frostbite on his fingers and toes and some part of his face. He saw Porthos lift him up a little farther, and Athos finish up his scrubbing. How had they let it come to this? He knew after the first week that they should not have done what they did, but he could not get the courage to say. Break Athos' heart, see the pain in his eyes again, see anger in Porthos'. He was a coward. He picked up the towel from the floor and helped Athos pat him dry. He retrieved a nightshirt from the cupboard and pulled it over the lad's shoulders, helped Porthos pile blankets on his bed. All of the blankets went to their pup, the three friends would make do with the fire. As Aramis seemed to wrap the boy up like a mummy with bandages due to his many small cuts, Porthos stroked a hand in his hair, humming a sweet tune. Athos began to boil some water for tea and make some broth. Aramis rolled up his shirt sleeves. It would be a long journey. 

\---

When d'Artagnan woke once more, it was as if he was floating. Where was he? He could not be in heaven, his toes and fingers ached. He opened his heavy eyes and was introduced to a wonder. A mountain of blankets was piled on top of him, and a cheery blaze roared in the fire. His clothes were nowhere to be found, but a quick peek saw that he was clothed in a thick nightshirt. He gave a sigh of contentment and continued his study of the room. When he beheld the corner, his heart stopped. Aramis and Athos were asleep in the small cot Aramis used whenever they would take ill. Both men were on their sides, Aramis on the outside so that he could get up with greater ease. Athos had an arm thrown over the medic and Aramis had his mouth open in sleep. Leave and do not return. He couldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. d'Artagnan stumbled out of the bed and found his hands and feet wrapped in bandages. His clothes were nowhere to be found. It was no matter, the nightshirt was thicker than they were, and Monsieur would kill him for being late to work. He would take the bandages off his hands on the way. His expedition went well, he made it to the door without anyone noticing. He walked down the street until his travels were blocked by a large obstacle. He crashed into the large person and instantly gasped out apologies. He looked up to see a shocked Porthos. The shock melted off the man's face and d'Artagnan found himself scooped up. 

"Porthos please, I must work!" he found himself pleading. 

"You aren't goin' anywhere like that," was the man's response. The big man turned a deaf ear to all of d'Artagnan's pleas as they walked the few blocks to Aramis'. When they got to the door, Porthos was about to knock when a disheveled and panicked Athos wrenched open the door. His clothes were askew and untucked, and he was clutching at least three blankets. He sagged in relief when he saw the Gascon nestled in Porthos' arms. They could hear Aramis swearing inside. 

"I'll kill him!" they heard him screech as he thundered to the door, just as disheveled as Athos and clutching another blanket. 

"I have found him," Athos stated. Porthos scoffed and d'Artagnan shifted a little farther back into Porthos' arms. He was soon deposited back in the bed and tucked in amongst the mountain of blankets. "Any reason why you tried to make off?" Athos asked. 

"I have to go to work, Athos," d'Artagnan pleaded. Aramis raised an eyebrow. 

"Did your employer force you to work in your condition?" he asked seriously. 

"Not unless I wanted to be shown the door," d'Artagnan sighed, "Now if you'll excuse me..." He tried once again to rise, only to be stopped by Athos. 

"If that is the case, then I feel that you should seek employment elsewhere. Did your employer also pay you in the bruises you now have?" he asked. d'Artagnan looked down. Judging by Porthos' soft oath, he didn't need to answer. 

"I-I can pay you back, for the food and medicine and such," d'Artagnan lied. Well, not exactly lied. He would find the money. Somewhere. Somehow. Aramis looked at him with sad eyes. 

"You are our friend d'Artagnan, you owe us nothing. We were very, very wrong in what we did, and we all wish to apologize. We know that we've wronged you badly, and all that we ask is that you think about giving us a chance. We understand if you don't wish to do so," Aramis said quietly. 

"We would love for you to stay, but understand if you do not wish to do so," Athos stated quietly. 

"Aye lad, we wronged you, and bad," Porthos whispered. Tears filled the edges of d'Artagnan's vision, and he suddenly felt very tired. 

"And I am sorry for sleeping with Athos' wife. Please believe me when I say that I didn't know," d'Artagnan stated, "I don't forgive you, but everyone deserves a second chance. Maybe in time, we'll be able to move forward, forgive one another." At that, he was gripped by three separate pairs of arms. When they pulled apart, d'Artagnan gave a monstrous yawn. 

"Ah, before you rest, you'll need your medicine and some broth!" Aramis instructed. He only managed a forth of the bowl, something that made Athos' eyes set in concern and Porthos proclaim as "not enough to keep a bird alive". Aramis gave him a soft "give it time" and set the bowl aside. After plying him with what seemed like gallons of tea, they settled him back against the pillows and allowed him to rest. As the soft sounds of their banter drifted past d'Artagnan's ears, he felt at ease. Maybe there was hope after all. 


	2. Epilgoue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clearing some things up with the boys:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks to Sigmund and Tinkerbella for asking me to do an epilogue! Enjoy!

As d'Artagnan drifted back to sleep, he was unaware of the conversation that his friends were having. Athos knocked back a swig of wine before distributing it to his companions. Around his glass, Porthos' hand shook. "His employer, he beat 'im like one would beat a dog! Nearly let him starve! Wonder what he paid 'im," Porthos growled. 

"Yes, we'll have to return to pick up the boy's pay," Athos stated. 

"Did he pay him at all?" Aramis sighed. 

"Well, he's been livin' on the streets, that much is obvious. Any good employer woulda paid 'im enough to at least rent a room in the Court," Porthos sighed. 

"Judging by the bruises, I thought that we'd ceased wondering if this Monsieur is a good employer," Athos scoffed. Athos laid a calming arm on his friend's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "We cannot do much about the employer, our first concern is making sure that d'Artagnan recovers," Athos stated. Porthos nodded quietly. 

"Somebody oughta go to Treville, say that we're not comin' in. He's gotta be breathin' fire by now," Porthos sighed. 

"Yes, and we need his pauldron back," Athos stated. When both men leveled stares in his direction, Porthos gave them both a glare. He was mumbling angrily to himself as he walked down the street. Athos cleared his throat and squirmed in his chair, much like a small child who is nervous. Aramis raised an eyebrow at him. "Will-will he recover, fully I mean?" he asked quietly. Aramis sighed. So that was it, the guilt was still there. 

"I was afraid of the frostbite at first, but that luckily passed easily. He'll need two weeks bed rest and another two of light duty, but after that, as long as he doesn't strain himself, he should be fine. We'll have to watch what he eats, make sure that he gains weight," Aramis sighed. Athos nodded. 

"And his swordsmanship?" he asked. 

"Won't suffer," Aramis replied. 

"He was lucky," Athos mused, "I am fault for this. If I had not reacted the way I did, he never would have..."

"And if I had spoken up, stood up to you, he would not have left. If Porthos had not tossed him out on the streets, he may have been able to defend himself. If Treville had asked for caution, he might have received it. We were all wrong, Athos!" Aramis finished for him. Athos gave him a small smile. 

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Always there to point out what ought to be in your own head," Aramis said with a soft smile. When Porthos returned, he brought a visitor. Captain Treville walked quietly into the room, hat in his hands. Athos gave him a slight nod, gesturing for him to be silent. Treville walked over and stood by them. 

"Had to make sure that you weren't playing truant," he said dryly, "How is he?" 

"He'll recover, with time. He'll need a month," Aramis said quietly. 

"He'll have it. I'm going to the king straight after here, he'll need to know the boy's back," Treville sighed. 

"And the Cardinal and Milady?" Athos asked. 

"We can't do anything about the Cardinal, but her..." Treville mused. Athos' lips turned up in a slight smile. 

"Do what you can, that's all we ask," Athos said quietly. Treville nodded. Slowly, he withdrew a familiar brown pauldron from his cloak and set it on Aramis' table. 

"For when he wants it," he whispered, "The boy will always have a place with us, I am sorry for forcing him to believe otherwise. I'd best be getting back to the garrison, everyone will want word." With that, the captain withdrew, closing the door softly behind him. The sun was at midday before the pup woke again. When he did, he was amused to see Athos trot over and feel his forehead. Aramis and Porthos were asleep on the cot. 

"A little warmer," Athos mused, "Your temperature is finally beginning to rise. Are you hungry?" d'Artagnan nodded hesitantly. He wasn't really all that hungry, but he knew that not eating would result in three panicked friends. Athos approached with some broth. d'Artagnan grasped the spoon and felt like crying when the spoon shook so much that he could not feed himself. With a snarl, he was tempted to call Athos back, but was surprised when a hand grasped the spoon. A disheveled Aramis was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling sympathetically at him. He picked up the spoon and held it to d'Artagnan's mouth. He laughed at the pout the Gascon gave him. When he'd finally finish one fourth of the bowl, Aramis set it aside and dropped something into his lap. d'Artagnan looked down to see his pauldron. 

"The Captain came by, said that this was yours to have, if you wanted it. He's sorry for what he did, for making you leave," Aramis whispered. d'Artagnan nodded, he couldn't decide that, not now. It was good employment, honor, fairly good money, but he just didn't know if he could return to see all those faces, those memories. He put the pauldron back on the nightstand, and watched as Aramis checked his bandages. 

"We'd like to know where you were employed, as it would seem that we'll need to pick up your pay," Athos said quietly. d'Artagnan looked at his three friends nervously. 

"I-I didn't perform well on one of my days of work, and Monsieur docked my pay for two weeks, I won't be receiving any. I'm sorry, whatever expenses I've garnered, I'm sure I can pay you back once I've found employment! Perhaps Monsieur would take me back if I explained and made up the work..." d'Artagnan said with a slight note of hysteria. Aramis gently pushed down on his shoulders and eased him back down on the bed, he didn't even know he'd gotten up. The eyes of all three of his friends (he now realized that Porthos had awoken) were dark with fury. 

"You will not be going back to that place, you owe us nothing!" Athos replied forefully. 

"I, I assure you that I will leave as soon as I may, I don't want to intrude," d'Artagnan whispered. 

"And where would you go, back to the streets?! You have no money d'Artagnan, and are welcome here as long as you wish," Aramis retorted. d'Artagnan looked down at the sheets and a hand gently lifted his chin. 

"Lad, you know that we're sorry, right? I don't want you think that you have to live off the streets cause of this. We're the ones who should be, and are, guilty in this, you're alrigh' pup," Porthos whispered. 

"I-I am sorry to impose," d'Artagnan whispered. 

"The way I see it, you are in this mess because of us, and it is our responsibility and pleasure to assist you out of it," Athos said gently. 

"Now, I think its time for you to rest. Worry not pup, we'll handle everything," Aramis whispered. With thoughts of warmth and comfort drifting through his mind, d'Artagnan fell asleep. When they saw the Gascon's eyes flutter closed, Porthos stood up shakily. 

"So, how we gonna get the pup his pay?" he asked with a sweetness that his friends knew meant  _trouble_. 

"It is obvious that the man will not hand it over willingly," Athos mused. 

"I think I might know the shop he worked at, man's known at Court and has a bad reputation," Porthos stated. The man went to the door and pulled his cloak over his shoulders. Athos raised an eyebrow and drawled, "Where exactly are you going?" Porthos looked at him like he was an idiot. 

"Goin' to get the pup's pay," Porthos stated. At that statement, Athos pulled his cloak on as well. "You comin' along then?" Porthos asked. 

"Someone has to make sure that you don't hang for murder," Athos mumbled with a small smile, "I know you far too well my friend." With a grin, Porthos led the way out of Aramis' apartments. Monsieur turned out to be quite a weaselly man. It was quite easy for Athos and Porthos to persuade him. They didn't hurt him of course, they were  _gentlemen_ , Athos was all dry humor and politeness, Porthos all large smiles, but when they left, they left a sobbing Monsieur on his dirty floor. They also left with the current contents of his coffer, which were surprisingly large. Athos supposed that it was good enough compensation for months of abuse and underpayments. When they returned triumphant to the apartments, Aramis was surrounded by a surprisingly large amount of packages. 

"What's all this?" Porthos asked with an incredulous smile. 

"The garrison thought it a good idea to help speed d'Artagnan on his way to financial recovery, seeing as he has no possessions. Madame Bonacieux stopped by, she is prepared to let d'Artagnan board for two months rent free...is that a  _coffer_?" Aramis asked incredulously. 

"Obtained with perfect legality and permission, I assure you," Athos said nonchalantly, "It is merely d'Artagnan's pay and compensation." Porthos picked up one of the boxes and howled out a laugh. 

_A gift to ensure to your speedy recovery. Within you will also find compensation for the horrific actions of my agent._

_Please be rest assured that her actions were not condoned and or known by me._

_Let it be known that she has been ordered not to return to France, and that said compensation will continue for one year._

_Again, my sincerest apologies for all the woes that have befallen you and wishes for a speedy recovery, you are in my prayers._

_Armand de Richelieu, His Eminence the Cardinal of France_

By the end of Athos' reading (as Porthos was in hysterics on the floor), d'Artagnan was awake and laughing with the rest of them. 

"Well, Treville did say he'd get 'im!" Porthos chuckled. 

"Yes, it'll certainly help when I get back to the garrison," d'Artagnan said quietly. With that, Porthos grinned madly and clapped him on the back, and Athos' heart sang. They would be alright, in time, or maybe they would even be stronger. Athos watched as Porthos teased the boy mercilessly, and Aramis was in raptures over the hat Their Majesties had thought to send the boy. They would all be fine. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Epilogue(Alternate Ending #2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe where d'Artagnan doesn't forgive the guys...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm absolutely floored by the reception this fic has received, and when I asked for opinions on an epilogue, there were two different endings that were wanted. The first was one was the happier ending that was requested by Tinkerbella and Sigmund. This chapter is dedicated to Debbie F, who requested that d'Artagnan not forgive the boys:) Feel free to let me know which ending you prefer (there will be three), or if you want another one written! Thank you all so much for all the great reception and enjoy!

d'Artagnan was warm all over, he didn't know how long it had been since he had been warm. He opened his eyes to a room and saw the three men that he thought he would never, and really wished he didn't need to, see again. Aramis was pouring water into a wonderfully warm bath, and Athos was scrubbing at his chest with a warm cloth. He was here because of them. He was sick, and abused, and hurting, because of them. He had sold all his memories of a now-burned farm because of them. Athos had not even allowed him to defend himself, Aramis had kicked him out, and Porthos had thrown him out as if he were nothing more than an animal. He never even got to say good-bye to Constance, though she was with her husband now. Anger surged through him, and Porthos' face appeared up above him. Would they charge him money he didn't have for something he couldn't afford? "Easy now d'Artagnan, easy now. You'll alright, just stay still," Porthos tried to sooth. The only thing it did was cause anger to curl up in his belly and finally spill over. He gave a low growl, and Athos stopped scrubbing, a heavy look in his eyes. "It seems that we need to talk," Athos said heavily. 

"Nothing to say," he ground out. Aramis set the bucket down with a thud. 

"We, we are sorry, d'Artagnan, for all that we've done. I should never have allowed this to happen," Aramis whispered, and the cold look in his friend's eyes flashed through his mind. 

"I'm sorry too, I should never have done what I did," Porthos replied, his head down, ah yes, the one who'd tossed him out on his collar. 

"And I as well, every man has a right to defend himself, and you were never allowed the chance," Athos said. d'Artagnan looked at each of them in turn. 

"If you were a little hurt, or confused, I could understand. But not this! You called me a liar, a manipulator, took away all that I loved! I've risked my life for all of you, and you throw me away like I'm nothing! I wasn't even allowed to defend myself! You turned Treville, a man I used to respect, against me! You took away my livelihood and left me basically penniless with no work! You didn't think to look for me until God only knows how long ago! Athos, you turned me away because I'd had a night with a woman I'd met before I'd even came to Paris. You turned me away because you were  _jealous_ I'd slept with a woman you tried to  _execute_! How does that even make sense? And you, Aramis, you stood behind him and never said a word, encouraged him even. I would have understood if you had told me to come back later, but no! I was told never to return! And Porthos, what did you think I was, an animal?! You seized me by the collar and tossed me out when I had curled up outside the door like a  _dog_ to apologize! You abandoned me to the streets when you knew I wouldn't be able to find work after my dishonor! Where the fuck did you think I would go?! Do you have any idea what I've been through! I was forced to sell all my possessions, the only things I have left of my farm, for a few sous! I had to sleep on the streets, and when I finally found work, it was to a man who beat and belittled me and made me work for a few pennies a day! I ate food out of the rubbish piles and burnt bread, and I was forced to wrap my feet with rags after my boots got stolen! My employer worked me like an animal, and I couldn't do a thing about it! When I got sick, he beat me because I wasn't working hard enough, and he docked me two weeks pay! And when I finally end up almost dead in an alley, then you decide to show your faces! You dragged me back here when you knew it upset me, and then expected me to be fine with everything and forgive you for literally almost killing me?! I don't know whether to laugh or vomit right now!" d'Artagnan screamed hysterically. Athos' eyes were wide, his face was pale, and his hands were clenched around the cloth. Aramis' eyes were wet with tears, and he reached out a hand, as if to comfort the boy, only to pull it back. Porthos was openly sobbing, his head in his hands. 

"It is obvious that you are repulsed by our presence, for good reason. Where would you have us take you? Name the place, and we'll take you there," Athos whispered, "And please know that we will forever be ashamed of our actions towards you. Your words were correct and deserved in every way."

"Take me to Constance, she was the only innocent in this nightmare," d'Artagnan hissed. Athos nodded and told Aramis to get him in a nightshirt. He wrapped the boy in numerous blankets and hefted him up like a child.

"Tell Constance I'll check on you in the morning, if she wishes it. You were right d'Artagnan, I should have said something, should have told you to come back later, and that I will always be sorry," Aramis whispered. d'Artagnan nodded and watched as Porthos came up to him. A big hand ran through his hair, and the man looked like he might start crying again.

"I'm so sorry pup, for all that I've done. You get better, alright, and-and let us know where you go," Porthos whispered. d'Artagnan nodded, and Athos stepped forward as Aramis opened the door. The walk was done in silence, neither man having use for words. When Constance opened the door to her home, d'Artagnan looked at her with big eyes and a small smile.

"The room's still available," she said heavily.

"You can come us at the garrison when the rent is due," Athos said. Blue eyes looked down into brown and a gloved hand cupped his cheek. Athos gave him a watery smile and took him upstairs to his room. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. When he awoke that morning, Constance sat above him.

"And where is the Monsieur?" he asked.

"Dead," she replied, "Some road accident, I handle the business myself now," she said quietly. He gave her a small smile.

"So we can be..." he said quietly.

"Yes, we can have our happiness my love," she whispered. Soft lips met his, and happiness settled in his heart for the first time in months. "They told me you'd gone to Lupiac to be with some woman," she whispered, hurt coloring her voice, "But I knew it wasn't true. I-I just had no idea that were in Paris. I thought that you'd maybe gone to rebuild your farm, were finally happy." d'Artagnan shook his head, but a knock at the door prevented any other words. She got up, and d'Artagnan heard four voices from below, three soft and almost pleading, Constance's harsh and biting. Three meek Musketeers entered the room, hats in hand. Aramis stepped forward quietly.

"I would look at your wounds, if I may," he said quietly. d'Artagnan nodded and shuffled to sit up a bit more. "Madame Bonacieux, if you could and fetch me..." Aramis asked.

"I don't think I will. Wouldn't want to think that he'd gotten up from his sickbed and went stumbling after some back-alley whore," she snapped. Aramis winced and Porthos looked down at the ground. Athos eyes took on a deeper level of hurt, but d'Artagnan wasn't sorry. Porthos stepped meekly forward and placed a large sack on the table.

"The Captain brought your wages, the king and the cardinal pitched in, as did we. We also got your pay from that bastard of an employer you told us about," Porthos whispered.

"Thank you, Madame Bonacieux and I will certainly use it for the business," d'Artagnan replied, to which Constance smiled.

"You-you are staying in Paris then?" Aramis asked, joy in his voice.

"Yes, though I will not be joining the regiment, and Constance and I both expect time to find forgiveness, with the understanding that we may choose not to give it," d'Artagnan stated. Athos dipped his head in submission, as did Porthos, though he could not contain the huge smile he had.  

"The Captain offered, but we said that his offer would most likely displease you. We will leave you and Madame Bonacieux to recuperate," Athos said quietly. With that, all three men shuffled out the door. And as the months went by, rumors grew of three Musketeers who visited a house often, and sometimes an older gentlemen accompanied them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The REALLY sad (and surprising...and dark) ending will be up soon:)


	4. Epilogue(Alternate Ending #3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could have happened if there was a snowstorm that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!!! This is the chapter that caused me to have to revise two of my tags! This one is the reason for all the tags, please read them! If I forgot anything, please please please let me know! I would like to dedicate this chapter to Debbie F and all her wonderful ideas, as she was the one who gave me the idea to give you guys all these separate endings that you could pick from. Okay, so again, warning for death and suicide! Thank you for reading, please feel free to comment if you want me to add an ending, or just to tell me which one is your favorite.

The snow swirled around in flakes as Porthos looked out from Aramis' apartments. "Snow's comin' down hard. I don't think I'll go to the Court tonight, I'll see Flea tomorrow," he said. Aramis nodded, and Porthos turned away from the window. 

Athos crunched through the blinding snow, his body wracked with shivers. He just had to reach Aramis' apartments, they were closest. He'd gone to the tavern tonight, the wine's siren calls too much for his exhausted mind. He stumbled and went to his knees in the snow. He never should have had that much to drink. Damn it! His cloak was soaked, and hsi fingers were beginning to turn red, even under his gloves. He wretched in an alley, and he could barely get up from his hands and knees because of the wracking shivers. He leaned against the wall and panted. How long had he been out here? His hat was nowhere to be found, and his hair was covered in snow. He looked down and gasped in the alleyway. There lay a small figure. He instantly shook the figure's shoulder and gasped when he saw a face he never thought he would see again. 

"d'Artagnan?" he gasped, "d'Artagnan, answer me boy!" He shook the boy's shoulder harshly, God only knew how long he'd been out here. Brown eyes blinked unsteadily at him. 

"'Thos?" the boy slurred, "'Thos, cold, p'ease." The boy whimpered and Athos slapped a hand to his forehead, he swore when it felt like ice. He instantly stripped off his doublet and cloak, wrapping them around the boy tightly. 

"Hold on my boy, I know you're cold, but you have got to stay awake," he said with a slight slur. Damn the wine! He picked up the boy and the world rocked. No, this was no time for his damn body to go on some drunken shutdown! He had,  _had_ , to get the boy and himself to Aramis. If they were out in the elements another hour...d'Artagnan whimpered as Athos crashed into the alley wall and jarred him. The boy still wasn't shivering, his lips were like blue, along with his nose and ears. Athos' shivers were starting to lessen as well. No! No! He had to do this, had to save d'Artagnan, the boy had to live! Porthos and Aramis had no idea where he was, and they wouldn't come looking until morning. A wracking cough echoed through the boy, and looked down at the boy. 

"'Thos, tell Con'ance, 'm 'orry," he slurred heavily. He kept on walking, his shirt was already soaked and he could see blue skin on his chest. His arms felt weak, and his mind was beginning to slow alarmingly. 

"No, tell her yourself, I am not your messenger," Athos growled. A watery chuckle rippled through the boy and Athos gave him an encouraging smile. 

"I'm sorry," he panted, "For all that I've done. I'm sorry for rejecting you, for forcing you to leave, for making you live penniless." He realized that tears were running down his cheeks, freezing to his face. He gaze a choked sob and looked down into resigned eyes. 

"'S alright, 'Thos, love you," he whispered. 

"I love you too," Athos whispered, "Oh so much, but you can't tell the others, Porthos will start crying, and Aramis shall play the dramatic." Athos had stopped shivering, he knew they didn't have much time, and they were at least ten blocks from Aramis'. No lights were on, it must have been close to the midnight hour, and no one would here his cries. 

"Can count on me," d'Artagnan said with a small smile, and Athos smiled back at him. 

"I knew I could," he whispered. He began to weave, and knew that he wouldn't last much longer. Damn him, damn him! 

"'Thos cold?" d'Artagnan asked blearily, and Athos knew the boy wouldn't last much longer. He just had a little more to go! 

"No, I am fine, stay in the covers, you and I shall be warm soon enough," Athos chided. d'Artagnan hummed and closed his eyes, it took Athos a minute or more for him to open them once more. Finally, Athos' weak arms gave out and dropped the Gascon with a small grunt. Athos went to his knees, and the dark spots that had been creeping up on him invaded in force. The end was near, at least for him, but maybe not for the boy, he had to save the boy. Athos put his blue hands (blue hands, blue lips, blue nose, blue chest, blue  _everything_ ) and heaved. Nothing happened. With an anguished cry, he heaved again, and again, and again. The Gascon could not be moved, and Athos wouldn't leave him, never again. A hand on his arm startled him and he looked into half-lidded brown eyes. 

"Leave," the boy said softly. Athos shook his head vehemently, choked out a sob. "Please?" he asked quietly. 

"I'll never leave, never again," Athos whispered. He knew he wouldn't make the block to Aramis'. He curled around the boy protectively, and hoped that Porthos and Aramis wouldn't be the ones to find them. "I'm sorry, so sorry," Athos whispered in his anguish, for this was all his fault. 

"No, I forgive you," d'Artagnan slurred as he closed his eyes. Athos pulled off his gloves and ran his fingers through the Gascon's hair, murmuring slurred sweet nothings in his ear as they went to sleep. When Porthos went to see Flea the next morning, he would find two sleeping figures curled round one another a block from Aramis' apartments.The pair were buried two days later in the cemetery of their brothers, side by side. Neither Porthos nor Aramis had said a word since the Porthos found bodies and run back to Aramis' apartments in silent hysterics. Even now, Porthos kneeled silently in front of the mounds of dirt while Aramis was wrapped around the headstones, his mouth forming silent pleas to the dead. Treville stepped forward hesitantly and picked up the Spaniard. The man flailed, clawed at his doublet, but Treville wouldn't let go. The Captain sent a look to Porthos who got up and followed without a word. He put Aramis in the garrison infirmary, praying that the Spaniard would get some sleep, and sat Porthos in a chair next to him. There he remained with them. None of the trio slept that night, and the Captain left that morning to take care of urgent palace business. He would come back to find Aramis passed out from exhaustion and Porthos gone. The Musketeers searched for the brother frantically, and finally were led to his location to the sounds of fighting. The man had taken on ten Red Guards and lost. Treville didn't know how he survived the trip to the garrison, but he found it a horrible blessing that Aramis got to say goodbye. Porthos died with Aramis curled round his back, arms encircling him in a way that had always shown love and warmth. It had taken Treville five hours to pry Aramis from his friend with begged entreaties and painful logic. The Spaniard had looked at him with hollow eyes through all of it. Aramis refused all pleas for food and sleep, every barked order from Treville, every heavenly-smelling dish from a somber Serge. Treville knew that they may be planning the forth funeral, the last, soon. Aramis hadn't even been well-enough to attend Porthos', but had slept, filled with one of Lemay's sleeping teas. Treville knew that there was no pulling Aramis back from the edge this time. Called away by the duties of his office, Treville left Aramis in the infirmary, staring at a wall. The Spaniard found himself a pistol, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. 

When Aramis next awoke, it was to rays of sunshine skittering across his brow. He shot up and found himself in a field, a huge field of rolling green that never seemed to end. On a huge horizon were three very familiar figures. There was a deep voice, a sweet laugh, and a voice as dry as the winter wind. He ran up to the horizon. It was time for new adventures, new explorations. All for one and one for all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that suicide is NEVER the answer, and if you are feeling at all like it is, please, get help. This the link to a website that you can receive professional help from: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading, let me know what you thought!


End file.
